


it's still you

by Sendnukes



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, M/M, References to Norse Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 07:46:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15359631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sendnukes/pseuds/Sendnukes
Summary: Some deep part of him that knew death and rebirth and everything in between also knew that he and Loki were bound to each other by something not even Mimir could speak of, something born in the tangled roots of Yggdrasil and fostered by the passage of aeons.





	it's still you

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration for this fic was taken from Margaret Atwood's poem "Shapechangers in Winter".

_ and births and illnesses, hatred and love infra- _

_ red, compassion fleshtone, prayer ultra- _

_ violet; then rumours, alternate waves _

_ of sad peace and sad war, _

_ and then the air, and then the scintillating ions, _

_ and then the stars. That’s where _

_ we are. _

  
  


Decades and centuries and millennia. 

 

A squalling newborn that, when the early-morning light rising over golden fields, hit him just right, shimmered blue like the precious gems studded into the walls, whose eyes flashed red, red, blood-red. 

 

He disliked him, jealous of the way father -  _ his  _ father - touched the infant’s tiny little forehead with his large fingers, gentler than he’d ever seen. Jealous of his mother’s soft murmuring, the way she held the babe to her chest with such a painfully tender look on her face.

 

But hatred was not in his nature. 

 

The first time he was left alone with the child, he stared down at it’s tiny form swaddled in one of his old blankets. The child gazed back at him with startling green eyes that seemed to see more of him than he was even aware of. Quiet cooing, odd and melodic. As if possessed by some unseen force, he reached for the infant. It smiled at him, tiny hand wrapping around his finger.

 

From that moment on, it was only love, deep and unyielding and eternal. 

  
  


_ Some centuries ago, when we lived at the edge _

_ of the forest, on nights like this _

_ you would have put on your pelt of a bear _

_ and shambled off to prowl and hulk _

_ among the trees, and be a silhouette of human _

_ fears against the snowbank. _

_ I would have chosen fox; _

_ I liked the jokes, _

_ the doubling back on my tracks, _

_ and, let’s face it, the theft. _

  
  


A childhood that spanned eras. On Midgard, where time sped by in the blink of an eye, whole civilizations rose and fell and rose again, as the two young gods chased each other through gardens and forests older than thought. 

 

At night, when the sun fell and the air turned cold, they hurried to their mother’s side to tug on her skirts and beg for a story. The stories that contained no great hunts or greater conquests bored him, and so, on those nights when Frigga’s lilting voice lulled him somewhere far away, he watched his brother instead. It was not glorious battle that captured his brother’s attention; no it was tales of wisdom and knowing, of sorcery and trickery, that turned his fair face upward to gaze adoringly at their mother, long lashes casting longer shadows down his cheeks. 

 

In the morning, his brother would slip away to the great library to hide between bookshelves for days until he was sent for. He missed his brother achingly when the doors of the library slammed shut in his face, but a part of him knew that the side of his brother that was indulged by books and ancient runes was his alone. 

 

This was their first separation.

 

\- -

 

_ Loki _ they called him. Thor liked the way it rolled off his tongue.  _ Loki _ . 

 

He knew that his own name meant _ thunder _ , he knew that father’s name meant  _ inspired _ (or  _ rage _ , depending on who was asked) and mother's meant  _ beloved _ , so Loki must meant something, as well. 

 

“It means knots,” Frigga told him, “Knots and tangles and loops.”

 

She would not tell him why. 

 

Thor also knew that names were prophetic, so this unknowing did not bother him much. Somehow, eventually, he would know why.

 

\- -

 

As they grew, side by side, it became clear they shared no blood. Thor began to take after his father and his brothers - hazy figures that hovered at the edges of his childhood but who mattered little to him, not when they were so much older than him; not when he had Loki. And Loki, Loki became deeply clever, developing a love for jest and all things mischievous. But there was a strangeness there, something cold and distant Thor couldn't quite figure out. And yet, he remained the only brother Thor truly loved. Some deep part of him that knew death and rebirth and everything in between also knew that he and Loki were bound to each other by something not even Mimir could speak of, something born in the tangled roots of  _ Yggdrasil _ and fostered by the passage of aeons.

 

\- -

 

When he and Loki were nearly young men, Odin took them hunting with him. Thor had hardly been able to contain his excitement. Loki had been indifferent. It was how things often went. 

 

The forest was dark and silent around them, sunlight filtering through the heavy leaves. Loki caught up to Thor, at one point, plucking a single golden hair from his head with long fingers. Thor watched him hold it up in a warm shaft of sun, twirling it to catch the brilliant gold, his brother smiling fondly. 

 

_ The golden god _ , he had said, no bitterness lacing his words yet. 

 

They tracked a fox through the woods, Thor riding ahead eagerly, Loki hanging back looking wary. They finally cornered the animal by a small stream. It was a pathetic creature, scrawny and mangy. Thor could feel Odin’s anger that they had spent half the morning hunting something so inconsequential. 

 

“Kill it,” Odin commanded.

 

Thor dismounted from his horse and started forward but his father stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Not you.”

 

Thor looked at him in confusion before his gaze settled on Loki. His brother stared back, a sick look on his thin face. 

 

“I would rather Thor do that,” Loki said quietly, eyes flicking to the fox and back to Odin. 

 

Odin’s face was deadly blank, a trait Loki himself would pick up later in life. 

 

“Do it, Loki.”

 

Even Loki knew better than to argue. He jumped from his horse, landing soundlessly on the soft forest ground. He started towards the animal slowly, drawing his blade. Loki crouched next to the trembling beast, whispering quiet reassurances and running a shaking hand over it’s flank. 

 

“Enough,” Odin snarled, “You are too soft, boy. Kill it now or you will wish you had.”

 

Thor yearned to go to Loki, to take the knife from him and do it himself and save his brother this pain. But he could not. 

 

Loki tangled his fingers in the fox’s fur and, fast as a snake, his knife flashed, slicing the animal’s neck. Loki stared at his hands for a long while, the blood jarring against his pale flesh. 

 

“Come,” Odin finally said, his voice gentler, “Let us return.”

 

“What of the fox, father?” Thor asked when Loki gave no indication he had heard Odin.

 

Odin glanced back carelessly. “Leave it. It is useless.” 

 

Thor saw Loki’s shoulders stiffen. He did go to him then, placing a hand on his shoulder. Loki turned sharply from the touch, but not before Thor saw the damp in his eyes, the thin set of his lips.

 

“Come, brother,” he bade him softly, “Let us leave.”

 

Loki rose to his feet, inordinately graceful despite the blood covering his hands and the misery etched across his face. Thor took the knife from where it was clutched, white-knuckled, in Loki’s hand and cleaned it off on his own tunic. Loki still refused to look at him so Thor mounted his own horse again, glancing back in time to see Loki gently placing the fox in one of his saddlebags. 

 

The ride home was silent, and Loki disappeared the moment they arrived back. 

 

“Why did you make him kill that fox?” Thor demanded of Odin once they were alone.

 

He was angrier with his father than he’d ever been before. It coursed through him like a physical thing until he felt it in his very bones. Overhead, thunder rumbled in the distance and storm clouds gathered. 

 

“Your brother is weak,” Odin said, not even sparing Thor a glance, “He spends too much time in that library.”

 

“He is not weak!” Thor protested, and lightning split the sky,

 

Odin stared at him.

 

“He is gentle, not weak,” Thor said, struggling to control himself, control the feeling of something building in his blood, “He is so very clever, father.”

 

Odin’s expression was unreadable as he stared at Thor. 

 

“Your brother is clever, yes,” he said finally, “But he is weak. No son of mine would hesitate to kill such a small creature. He must learn, Thor.”

  
  


Thor found Loki in his favorite part of the garden, the part closest to the forest, hidden in shade and where all manner of toadstools grew. Frigga had given Loki leave to plant what he wished, and the garden bloomed beautifully in the setting sun. 

 

Frigga had walked through Loki’s garden with Thor once, explaining all the meanings of the flowers Loki had planted to him. There was saffron, with it’s crimson center, thought to make skin fairer; deep purple irises for wisdom; laurel with it’s elegant leaves for glory; chamomile, that Loki often made them tea out of, for patience; fragrant lilac for the joy found in youth; sage for wisdom and immortality; sharply scented southernwood for jest.

 

He and Frigga had come to a part of the garden that seemed different from the rest, wilder somehow. His mother’s face when she had told him the meanings of the flowers here had been drawn and sad. Rhododendron, beautiful but deadly,  _ beware _ ; lovely hollyhock for ambition; strange, bitter hyssop for sacrifice; delicate gardenia for a secret love; and brilliant yellow carnations for disappointment. 

 

Loki’s garden had been such a shocking glimpse into his brother’s veiled thoughts that Thor had come to the garden every day for a week to wander through the flowers, wondering what event had spurred Loki to plant each one. 

 

He found Loki kneeling in the dirt as he buried the fox. Thor watched in silence as Loki sprinkled tiny little seeds over the grave. Bending low, Loki murmured to the earth, white hands glowing in the dark soil. His magic bled into the ground, and fat, orange flowers grew impossibly fast. Loki’s slim shoulders were shaking. Thor picked his way over to him, careful not to startle him as if he were a frightened animal. He crouched down, gathering Loki in his arms, feeling his tears bleeding through his shirt. They stayed like that for a long while, until the moon was high above them. 

 

It was the last time he ever held Loki in such a way. 

  
  
  


_ Back then, I had many forms: _

_ the sliding in and out _

_ of my own slippery eelskin, _

_ and yours as well; we were each other’s _

_ iridescent glove, the deft body _

_ all sleight-of-hand and illusion. _

  
  


Their splintering was slow, spanning the course of centuries. Loki had always been sharp and biting, caustic at times, but there had been a softer side of him. By the time they were men, that side of Loki had been smothered and beaten out of him. Loki’s mischief turned cruel, he laughed rarely, and when he did it sounded brittle. He ventured into his own despair, his loneliness, and cultivated it, twisted it, let it consume him. Loki no longer sought Thor’s company, preferring the company of books and his own magic. Behind Loki’s back, whispers flowered and took root in people’s minds. They claimed he had traded his soul for knowledge, that he had travelled to Hel and back, that he was practicing dark seiðr. Thor tried his best to stomp the rumors out, but they were like weeds; once one had gone, another took its place. He knew that Loki must know what was said of him behind his back, and yet Loki held his head high, giving no indication he knew, or cared, what was said of him. It made Thor proud but also deeply sad. 

 

Worst of all was how Loki looked at him. Where there had been love before, and yes, often jealousy, all Thor saw now was a cold resentment, and eventually, hatred.

 

 - -

 

Loki became nearly impossible to track down. He shifted and cycled through forms so often that he was rarely seen in his true form. One day a raven in the tree would have suspiciously green eyes and the next Thor would run into an exact copy of himself in the hallway. And yet, there remained enough of Loki, the one that Thor knew best of all, that when he desperately needed to find his brother, he could, as if they were too closely entangled to ever truly separate.

 

He was bent over a great tome in the library, his hair in disarray from, as Thor knew, running his hands through it. He glared at Thor when he entered.

 

“What do you want?” he snapped.

 

Thor just gazed placidly back, trailing his fingers idly along the spines of books to his left.

 

“I didn’t realize you owned the library, brother.”

 

It was a childlike response, and Loki rolled his eyes so hard Thor practically heard it.

 

“Why, Thor, I had no idea you could read.”

 

Thor’s friendly smile faded.

 

“I’d like to think I could still surprise you yet.”

 

Loki eyed him suspiciously as he approached. Up close, Loki looked ill. There were bags under his eyes like bruises, and his skin had taken on an even deeper pallor. He was beautiful still, dark thing that he was.

 

“Are you well, brother?” Thor couldn’t help himself from asking.

 

Loki glowered at him. “I am quite well, Thor. What do you want?”

 

Thor shrugged. “I am bored.”

 

Loki let out his breath in a sigh. “Haven’t you some idiotic friend to entertain you? Why are you bothering me?”

 

“Because I wanted to see you,” Thor said simply.

 

Loki rose then. He was dressed plainly in only leggings and a tunic. Thor could not help but appreciate his litheness, all lean lines and flat muscle. 

 

“How touching,” Loki sneered, “I do so appreciate you finding the time for me.”

 

Thor frowned, feeling anger bubbling hot in his chest. “Are you implying that  _ I  _ have been the one to ignore you?”

 

Loki’s lip curled. “Not that it matters to me, but you are always so busy with your hunting and your great battles and your  _ whore _ .”

 

The anger spilled over, coating Thor’s throat with bile. He knew Loki was speaking of Sif. 

 

“Do not speak of her that way!”

 

Thor realized he was shouting when Loki smirked. He had always considered it a point of pride if he could get Thor to raise his voice. Distantly, as if from a deeper part of his mind, Thor knew Loki was goading him on purpose, but his anger had always been Thor’s weakness; he had not mastered the same punishing self-control that Loki had. Electricity crackled between his fingertips. All he could think of was wiping that damned smirk off Loki’s face, of punishing Loki for his mockery, for his cruel words, for locking himself away in the library, for taking himself away from Thor. 

 

“Have I upset you?” Loki asked innocently, examining his fingernails and  _ tsking _ , “Always so predictable, brother.”

 

Thor snarled, the lightning dancing around his hands now. “Stop it, Loki.”

 

Loki looked up, green eyes blazing. “Or what? You’ll hurt me? You can’t hurt me, Thor. You can’t do  _ anything _ to me.”

 

Rage condensed into lightning shot out to wrap itself around Loki, because as much as Thor thought Loki’s words could no longer hurt him, he had been wrong. But Loki had changed far more than Thor had imagined in the years since they had begun to fracture, his power growing enough to match Thor’s. Indeed, Loki’s magic flared around him like a protective shield, the lightning fizzling away when it came in contact with the shifting energy surrounding him. And then Loki raised his arms, and Thor was hurtling into a bookcase. He picked himself up, vaguely aware that he was staring open-mouthed at Loki. Perhaps Loki did not possess as much restraint as Thor had believed him to, for his face was a mask of cold fury, his magic coiling up his arms like snakes. He looked terrible and deadly and beautiful. Thor was reminded of, with a painful aching, the desire for Loki he had pushed down into himself, the one that had no name but which he knew was dangerous all the same. He thought of the years they had spent tangled up in each other’s bodies, unwilling to separate from each other; the soft press of lips against his once, centuries ago, in the darkness of their bedroom; the way he had to tear his eyes from Loki’s naked body as they bathed together; the way he called Loki  _ brother _ but clung to the quiet part that knew they shared no blood. 

 

“Loki.”

 

His voice cracked like lightning when he spoke. He was not sure what he wanted to stay. Instead he walked slowly towards Loki, hands spread open in peace. Loki watched him warily, magic snapping around him. He was so lovely that Thor felt cut open by the sight of him; gutted. Loki had used to joke that Thor was like Odin’s ravens, easily distracted by anything shiny. With this, Thor had to agree, for he was so damnably distracted by Loki. 

 

“I did not realize how powerful you had become, brother.”

 

Loki’s face twisted in pain for the barest of seconds before it was wiped blank again.

 

“Not everyone compulsively flaunts their strength.” 

 

“Indeed,” Thor murmured, “But you are a sight to behold, Loki. You are incredible.”

 

Thor was not quick the way Loki was, but he was a warrior and he was fast. He crossed the space between he and Loki fast enough to catch him by surprise, pinning his brother’s wrists to the bookcase behind him. Loki gasped and cursed in his grip, and yet Thor knew that if he truly wished to escape, he would be gone faster than the space between seconds. 

 

Thor felt the rush of Loki’s magic a breath before anything happened. He felt his brother’s raw and boundless power and felt himself overcome with awe. And then he was holding a huge snake to his chest, which coiled around him so tight he could scarcely breathe and bared its fangs at him; a blink and the snake turned to a monstrous spider, its hairy body twisting in Thor’s grip; another blink and he was holding Sif’s lifeless body; then Frandral’s; then Odin’s. Thor only set his mouth grimly and tightened his grip.

 

“Loki,” he said quietly, “You cannot scare me. Please, come back to me.”

 

Another flash and it was Loki in his arms, pressed against him, eyes gleaming with anger. Thor gave him a soft, sad smile.

 

“Those were impressive tricks, brother, but they’re not necessary. I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

Loki’s eyes widened in shock but Thor pressed on before he could speak.

 

“I am sorry that I ignored you or made you feel as though I did not need you, Loki. You’re the only person I’ve ever needed.”

 

“You fool,” Loki said but his voice was raw.

 

Thor smiled again. “Yes, I am a fool, Loki. Especially when it comes to you.”

 

Loki could not meet his eyes and so Thor gripped his face with one hand, tipping it up toward him, slipping his other into Loki’s soft strands, holding his head in place. Loki’s lips were soft under his own and stained with the taste of wine, heady and sweet. Thor chased the taste, feeling Loki stiffen and try to wrench away, but he had forgotten that Thor knew him too well. That was always to be his downfall. He held Loki in place as he pressed more insistently against his lips until Loki went limp and parted his lips in surrender. 

 

That was how entire universes were born, Thor had thought. Loki’s mouth was warm, where the rest of him had always tended towards chilled, and yielding under Thor’s. At first he was simply pliant for Thor to do what he wished, but as Thor licked into his mouth, he began to respond, his own tongue -  _ silvertongue _ \- running over Thor’s teeth, tangling with Thor’s own, nipping at his bottom lip. It was too much, it was everything and Thor felt lightheaded with it all. 

 

The moment stretched impossibly long between them and Thor shook with the desire to have Loki, to consume him. To be consumed. There was no surprise in Thor when Loki shoved him away, eyes wild and lips spit-slick. 

 

“Out,” he whispered, voice rough, “Get out.”

 

Thor went.

  
  


_ Every cell _

_ in our bodies has renewed itself _

_ so many times since then, there’s _

_ not much left, my love, _

_ of the originals. _

  
  


Loki is not the same person he grew up with, who he spent lifetimes with, Thor knows that now. It doesn’t make it any easier. Nothing, he thinks, will make that fact easier. He had loved Loki in a way he knew he would never love someone again. He had loved him in forgotten languages and in silence, in the spaces between worlds and time. 

  
  


_ I used to say I’d know you anywhere, _

_ but it’s getting harder _ .

  
  


When he looks at Loki, sometimes he still sees the brother he knew. He sees him in his lips, the slope of his nose, the hollow of his cheeks. He sees him in Loki’s smile and hears him in his voice. But a blink, and he’s gone. 

 

Sometimes, Loki still comes to him, in the dark hours when everything is unfamiliar and he can pretend they’re someone they’re not. His body is remembered under Thor’s, he knows the lines and planes better than he knows his own, but Loki’s mind is far away. It’s only when Thor is deep inside him, fucking him hard enough that Loki’s eyes are glazed, does his brother seem to return. Any less, and Thor loses him, watches him slip away. So he bruises him, digs his fingers in, slams Loki against walls until the stones crumble around them. 

 

“Please, come back, Loki,” he whispers once, “We are meant to be together.”

 

Loki’s back is to him as he dresses, the firelight dancing off his body. He straightens up, and Thor watches the shift of bones under skin, wonders when he got so thin. Loki doesn’t turn, but when he speaks, his voice cracks. 

 

“We are meant to lose each other.”

  
  


_ This is the solstice, the still point _

_ of the sun, its cusp and midnight, _

_ the year’s threshold _

_ and unlocking, where the past _

_ lets go of and becomes the future. _

  
  


Thor is capable of change. He had doubted it in the past, but he knows it to be true. He can think, shamefully, of that foolhardy boy he had been before his banishment, knows he is a very different man now.

 

Loki, though, prideful, spiteful, wounded Loki, has yet to learn what it is to change, the rebirth in it, the pain, the growth. Sometimes, Thor lets himself imagine what it would be like if Loki ever allowed himself his own metamorphosis. Often, it hurts too much to dwell on, to think of the life they could have had, the one they did. 

 

They’re alone together on some windswept hill in Midgard where Loki had spirited him away to. Thor had felt a fleeting pang of guilt for deceiving his new friends, but Loki will always come before anyone else, forever. 

 

Loki is moving under him, back arching and lips parted, unbelievably sinful. Thor can feel the sting on his back where Loki has dug his nails in and left gouges. He hopes the scars never fade. Here, like this, with Loki gazing reverently up at him, Thor knows there isn’t a single thing he wouldn’t do for him, knows he would give Loki anything he asked for. 

 

“You could be more,” Thor whispers into the soft skin of Loki’s neck later.

 

Loki turns his face away, silently drives Thor into him harder until they’re both shaking. The moon, distant and waning, is far above them when Loki speaks. 

 

“I think not, brother. The past is waiting for me.”

 

It’s the first time in a long while the word brother has left Loki’s lips. Thor shifts to look at him, more beautiful than anything.

 

“Then let it come,” Thor growls, but even he can hear how his voice breaks with a grief not yet felt.

 

Loki turns to look at him, a million stars reflected in his eyes. His face is soft, tender. Thor feels a dull ache building in his chest. 

 

“You can’t protect me from myself forever..” 

  
  


_ and the only common _

_ sense that remains to us is touch, _

_ as it will be, later, some other _

_ century, when we will seem to each other _

_ even less than what we were. _

  
  


By the time Loki is so lost to him that all he feels is a quiet rage when he sees his brother, the only thing he can do other than fight Loki is fuck him. 

 

Thor remembers all the times he tried to be gentle, had felt the hot twistings of guilt at using Loki so roughly, had tried to soothe the hurt with his love, and wants to laugh, or maybe cry. Now, driving into Loki had enough that his brother gasps in pain, Thor has to control himself from grabbing Loki by the neck and shaking him. Sometimes he fantasizes about wrapping his hand around Loki’s throat and squeezing until no more lies can spill from that pretty little mouth. 

 

He sees it in Loki too. Sees how, in the pardoxes that Loki is so fond of, he craves both the pain Thor can no longer help but give him, and how he wishes to hurt Thor in turn. Loki never could figure himself out; always the martyr and the executioner. 

 

There are times Thor can hardly believe what they once were. 

  
  


_ But that trick is just to hold on _

_ through all appearances; and so we do, _

_ and yes, I know it’s you; _

_ and that is what we will come to, sooner _

_ or later, when it’s even darker _

_ than It is now, when the snow is colder, _

_ when it’s darkest and coldest _

_ and candles are no longer any use to us _

_ and the visibility is zero _ .

  
  


Here, they have arrived at the last hour, and Thor can feel it in the marrow of his bones, can feel the loss already singing in his blood. Loki’s gaze lands on him, and Thor can see the resignation in his brother’s eyes. A dagger glimmers into existence, Loki’s last trick. 

 

He knows it’s coming, knows it in the deepest part of himself, but nothing could have prepared him for the loss and rage that sweeps over him, drowns him. The grief of every lover, every brother, in the universe, is nothing compared to this. Thor knows with the same certainty that he loved Loki with, that he will never be whole again.

  
  


_ Yes. _

_ It’s still you.  _

  
  


Loki comes to him in his dreams. In them, he is young and beautiful, the way Thor remembers him best, no trace of that dark, hunted, haunted creature that his brother became in the end. 

 

In Thor’s dreams, they make love again and there is no violence to it, no pain, only joy, and Loki, soft and sweet and lovelier than anything. 

 

Sometimes, Thor cannot contain his pain and the words spill from him, ugly and angry.

 

“How could you betray me like that, Loki? Again and again and again?”

 

Loki takes his anger in a way he never did when he was alive, answers Thor with a small smile and the whisper of his fingers across his face. 

 

“We always betrays what we love most.”

 

Other times, they sit with each other in silence, looking over a landscape that seems a mix of all the Nine Realms. 

 

“Where are we?” Thor asks once.

 

Loki quirks a brow at him and it’s such a well-known expression that it hurts even in his dreams. 

 

“Where do you think we are?”

 

“I do not know. It seems familiar somehow, yet I do not recognize it.”

 

Loki shrugs, turns his gaze back to the beauty in front of him.

 

“We’re in your mind, Thor.”

 

“Where do you think we are?” Thor asks, taking Loki’s hand in his and weaving their fingers together.

 

“Oh, I quite believe we’re somewhere in eternity.”

 

“How can that be, brother?” Thor asks, puzzled. 

 

Loki’s eyes glint with mischief, and Thor cannot help but press their mouths together until he’s dizzy. Loki shifts close to him, brushes a lock of hair out of his face, runs a cool finger over his lips. 

 

“We’re here, where we were always meant to be together. It is where I will wait for you.”

 

“I would join you now,” Thor whispers.

 

Loki smoothes away the dampness on his cheeks, cradles Thor’s head gently between his hands.

 

“Not yet, brother.”

 

“I cannot,” Thor chokes out, “Not without you.”

 

Loki smiles, a soft, sad thing.

 

“It was never you who needed I, Thor. It was always the other way around.”

 

Thor shakes his head. “You’re wrong, Loki. There was never a moment I did not exist for you. Indeed, I believe still that we were created for each other.”

 

Loki laughs softly, and there is only love in his eyes. 

 

“Such a sentimental fool.”

 

The last time Thor dreams of Loki in that place between space and time, he knows it is the last. 

 

“You cannot stay here with me,” Loki murmurs into Thor’s embrace, “I promise you, brother, that when the time comes, I will be here. I will wait for you until the stars burn out and swallow themselves, until everything returns to the sea. But for now, you must return to the task of living.”

 

“It was only you,” Thor says and means it. “Everything. It was only ever you.” 

 

“I know,” Loki says and Thor knows that, finally, he does. 

  
  


_ It’s still you. _

  
  
  



End file.
